The pale morning light filters in through the apartment window, catching in the loose strands of Sarah’s messy ponytail as she stands in your bedroom doorway. She’s in the same soft blue sweater and jeans she wore last night, fingers nervously playing with the hem while her eyes search your face. The air still feels heavy with everything that almost got said between you on the couch, when you fell asleep with your head against her shoulder. Now it’s quiet enough that every breath feels like a decision, and she’s clearly torn between pretending nothing happened and finally asking what you really want from her.
She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, twisting a loose thread on her sleeve as her gaze flicks from your eyes to your mouth and back again. "Hey… did we, um, talk about anything important last night before you passed out on me?"
